Chapter 21 – Rebel in the Rough

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Linton remarked, looking around the decrepit, abandoned warehouse.

“It’s the best I could do on such short notice,” Tessla said. “Besides, it’s more discreet than a Gold Quarter penthouse.”

The large, open shipping area which had once been used to prepare goods of various kinds now bustled with another kind of activity. Men and women in button-ups and ties hurried around, setting up printing presses and desks. Old, flickering magelights illuminated the dusty floor space.

“An unconventional kind of rebellion, to be sure,” Tessla said as she surveyed the workforce. “Though, not unwelcome. I’m happy you decided to forego violence, for once.”

Linton shrugged. “You might not believe me, Tess, but I actually dislike fighting.”

She clicked her tongue. “I don’t. You love fighting far too much to quit, even if you don’t know it yourself. You’re like my dad in that regard.”

Linton was unable to respond to that, and he was aware that Aeva was watching him intently.

A woman in a suit came up to Tessla, holding a clipboard. “We’ll be ready to print in a few hours, miss, provided you can give us the paper you promised.”

“You’ll have it, don’t worry,” Tessla said. “You only need to focus on getting up to speed.”

“Got it. And the name. We were thinking the ‘Northmark Rebel’.”

Tessla smiled. “Excellent choice.”

The woman nodded and hurried off.

“These are the remnants of the Northmark Shield,” Linton said to Aeva, sensing her confusion. “One of the most venerated newspaper publications in the Concord. Couldess disbanded them yesterday. I had Tess here pick up the pieces.”

Tess smiled brightly and reached out to the wildkin. “Hi, I’m Tessla Couldess. Aeva, that’s your name, yes? Did I get the pronunciation right? We haven’t formally met, but I’ve heard a lot about you. Most of it awful, to be fair, but coming from the MOW, I decided to believe the opposite.”

Aeva bristled. Linton held back a laugh as she slowly crept out her hand and curled it gingerly around Tess’s, as if afraid she might crush it.

“Yes. Aeva. Hello,” she said. She hesitated for a moment, then looked back at Linton. “I am not certain I understand. We are going to foil the Ministry of Welfare with… newspapers?”

“Exactly right,” Linton said. “Are you familiar with the concept? Do you have them in Anderland?”

“Vaguely. I’ve read a few of them. They were helpful in learning Attean.”

“Then you might know that public outrage can be just as powerful a tool as a company of soldiers. More so, even.”

“Linton?” Tess said. “A moment, please, if that’s alright.”

“Sure.”

They moved off so they could talk in private. If Aeva was offended, she didn’t show it.

“I think this is my dad’s big play,” Tess said. Her usual mirth was gone, leaving only grave concern written on her face. “I know you’re being careful, but… make sure you don’t fall victim to any of his schemes. He’s done underestimating you.”

“Watch out, there, Miss Couldess,” Linton said with a wry smile, “it almost sounds like you’re worried about me.”

“And that would be a bad thing?”

“No. Just telling.”

Linton made to walk away, but Tess took his arm and held him firm.

“Remember our promise,” she said. “He lives. Let him stand trial for what he’s done. It’s the only way I’ll help you.”

Maybe she wouldn’t feel that way if she knew what Linton had uncovered about her father. He couldn’t tell her, though, and risk losing her support. Not yet. Not until the time was right.

“I haven’t forgotten,” Linton said. “Don’t worry. I’ll let him live.”

A lie.

***

Tesman Granhorn struggled to hold together the shreds of his sanity.

He breathed raggedly, slumped forward in the chair. The physical torture he could have withstood. Knives and wicked magic, cuts and bruises and burns all over his body. Starved of food and water. All that, he could have endured. At times, he could hear the screams of his family through the walls. Even so, he knew that panic would only exacerbate their danger.

Not that it mattered. His defiance was all for nothing.

Tesman’s mind was scrambled. He could scarcely remember why he was hurting so, and yet, the pain waited just below his skin, coursing through his body with every movement. There was no escaping it, no bargaining with it. Someone had gone into his mind, uncoiled his brain, fiddled with the contents, and put it together again, but it was all wrong. Up was down, and down was up.

He hadn’t talked, but that was of no consequence. Once his endurance was eroded, everything of importance had simply been plucked from his memories. All the details concerning his son.

The man in the black suit. He did this to me. I remember.

He had languished for hours, days, without human contact, stuck in this empty room. His only company was the echoing screams. He tried to call out to them sometimes, to reassure them that it would be alright, but usually his voice failed him, and he never received a response.

Tesman held onto one hope in this madness. One guiding star that held the flagging pieces of his shattered mind together.

They’ll come for us. Linton and Cat. They’re strong. So strong.

Maybe even…

The door opened with a metallic creak. Tesman flinched. His thoughts scattered. Eyes downturned, he only saw a pair of shoes.

He followed the polished shoes with his gaze, up the black dress pants, to the stylish suit jacket with subtle, intricate patterns, and lastly the handsome, confident face, neatly groomed.

The man in the black suit.

With some strain, he recalled a name to go with the face.

Couldess.

“You already know… everything,” Tesman croaked, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Why do you torment us? Let them go, at least.”

Couldess held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “Hey, Tesman, slow down. We’re done with all that. This is a… social visit, I guess you could call it. I wanted to see you one last time.”

Tesman frowned. He struggled to comprehend the words. “One last time?”

“Yes. I will be overseeing your release,” Couldess said matter-of-factly. “Safer that way. There are criminal elements abound. Wouldn’t want any of them to get their hands on you.”

Tesman had a myriad of questions, but the Minister of Welfare answered none of them. Guards came in, undid Tesman’s bonds, and carried him out of the room by his armpits, since his legs weren’t strong enough to carry him.

He was brought through many rooms, each as cold and uninviting as the next. Then through a back door, to a black rumbler waiting on the tarmac. Behind a chain-link fence, dozens, maybe hundreds of protestors shouted and waved placards. Their chorus rose to a fever pitch when they saw him.

“Stop the torture!” one of them called.

“Or we’ll stop you!” said another.

One of the placards had been painted with a picture of a blue bird biting the neck of a pitiful, twisted demon. Several of the protestors threw rocks and less pleasant projectiles over the fence.

Tesman was put into the passenger seat of the rumbler, and he sighed with relief as all the noise of the outside was reduced to an indistinct background element. Only the driver, a stone-faced lubbard truther, was with him.

One by one, over the course of about twenty minutes, his family joined him in the rumbler. First Sed, then Mavin, and lastly Liza. He shared a brief but tearful reunion with each of them. To his great relief, both of his parents seemed to have been spared any physical torture. Liza was only lightly wounded. Ordinarily, he would have gone right back inside and shown the MOW what he thought about it. But, given the circumstances, he was happy to simply let this matter disappear for the time being.

“We’re getting released,” Liza said breathlessly. “What do you think happened?”

Tesman didn’t dare speak openly with the driver present, but he had a hunch that Linton was involved.

The passenger door opened, and Tesman looked into Couldess’s intense, grey eyes. He leaned into the rumbler, smiling amicably.

“Enjoy your freedom, Mr. Granhorn,” he said. “Be proud of your son. He is quite the contender.”

“He doesn’t know when to stop,” Tesman admitted. “Never has.”

Couldess said something else, but Tesman couldn’t hear him over the crowds. The Minister of Welfare stood and straightened his suit, a hand on the rumbler roof.

“Silence!” he barked. His voice cut through the cries of the angry mob and reverberated throughout the whole area. It cut the soul.

The protesters obediently quieted down, their voices lowered to indistinct murmurs.

“Ah, much better,” Couldess said, leaning back into the rumbler. “One more thing, Mr. Granhorn. Do you remember what I asked you to do?”

Tesman frowned. His memory was foggy. He remembered no request.

And yet, his lips formed a response. “Yes,” he said, although he wasn’t sure what it meant, or why he had decided to be forthcoming.

Couldess smiled, like one brother to another. “Good.”

He closed the door, and the rumbler took off as the protesters started crying out their displeasure once more.

The rumbler took onto a main road. Tesman didn’t know the destination they were headed for, and he was too exhausted to care. If this was some sort of trickery, another part of his torture, he was too far gone to let it rile him.

After a while, however, he began to recognize the scenery as they entered the Rathome district. The rumbler stopped in front of his own house, and the driver bid them leave in a terse tone.

Mavin had the spunk to question the driver on where their possessions had been taken and demanded they be returned, but the truther merely stared at her until she took the hint and dropped the topic.

Tesman got out of the rumbler and stood in front of his house, an arm around Liza’s waist. Everything was how he remembered it. In that moment, there was no fear. Only joy to be back home.

Once Sed and Mavin were out of the rumbler, Tesman and Liza helped them inside the house and sat them down in the kitchen.

The place was dark and cold, having stood empty for a time, and all the furniture had either been flipped, broken, or torn open. It had clearly been searched after they had left for Linvala.

“What do we do now?” Sed asked in his usual cutting tone. He placed a comforting hand on Mavin’s, one of the most affectionate displays Tesman had ever seen from him. “We can’t stay here. You’re all fools if you think the Ministry of Welfare will just leave us alone after this.”

“We can’t just leave,” Tesman said. “If we act out of line, they’ll just find us again and drag us back. Or worse.”

“So, what then?” Liza asked. She hugged herself tightly. “Tessie, I don’t feel safe here. I don’t know if I can feel safe anywhere after this.”

“Linton got us out,” Tesman said. “I know he did. I just do. Now, if this was his plan, he wouldn’t just leave it at this. He’d have left a trail. Instructions for us to follow.”

“He isn’t here,” Sed remarked. “I don’t see your point.”

“No, Tessie’s right!” Liza said, face lighting up. “He might not be here, but he could have left something behind for us. Hidden, so that no one else could find it.”

“Where would he hide something like that?” Tesman asked. He stroked his chin, but nothing immediately sprung to mind.

“His room,” Mavin said. “Remember his little hidey-hole? He’d keep all sorts of things in there. Shiny rocks. Pilfered cookies. Books of interest. Anything he didn’t want us to find.”

Tesman snapped his fingers. “You might just be right. Hold on a minute.”

He hurried off, finding his strength as he continued to walk, and went to Linton’s old room. It had been largely unused since Linton moved out except for storage. Much of the room had been trashed, furniture thrown into a corner, pillows gutted and ripped apart, desk drawers pulled out and rummaged through.

Tesman went right over to the spot where the bed had stood before the MOW upended everything. He got on his hands and knees and knocked on the floorboards until he found one that gave a hollow sound. He grasped the loose board with his nails and pulled it out, revealing a long, narrow slot where Linton had once hidden his many secrets.

Packed into the slot lay bundles of old drawings, made with crayon. Dark. Violent. Filled with fire and blood and dark eyes.

Tesman shivered at the sight of them. He thought that he had disposed of them all. With a hesitant hand, he reached in and brought them all up to look at.

Despite the clumsiness of Linton’s young hand, it was plain to see what most of the drawings depicted. A beast with a myriad of slitted eyes and a great maw, shrouded in darkness. It was shown dragging Linton into a closet, or devouring him piece by piece, or burning him and the entire family alive.

“By the Codes, Quintilla,” Tesman said with a sigh. “What did you do to our son?”

A small note fell free of the drawings, landing on the floor. Tesman set the drawings aside and picked it up. The note read:

‘Seaside. Skyship Dock 41. 9 o’clock. Bring everyone.

-L.’

Tesman smiled and folded the note into his pocket.

“You always come prepared, don’t you, son?” he said to himself.